


Winners (do it faster)

by Enthunder (Aya_A_Anderson)



Series: Small Fandom Works [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII Series
Genre: (Junior) Lecturer/Student, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, M/M, Romance, vague porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:24:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5846743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aya_A_Anderson/pseuds/Enthunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Tell me you didn’t have sex with him.” </p><p>“I didn’t have sex with him,” Snow said through gritted teeth. Wanting to – well, that meant nothing.</p><p>--</p><p>Or: junior lecturer Snow Villiers falls hard for student, Hope Estheim, and matters progress more quickly than they’re wont to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winners (do it faster)

**Author's Note:**

> My uni doesn’t have TAs or junior lecturers or whatever but this is a fantasy place in a fantasy world and it isn’t realistic in the slightest please be cool. Snow’s 23, Hope’s 18, if you’re not cool with that, please bail now (but given the regular age gap, you’ve probably seen worse).
> 
> It's not the most pro thing ever but please enjoy.

“Hope Estheim,” said the professor, eyes widening. He wore glasses, and Snow could see his pupils magnified: dilating and contracting as the train moved further, under small footbridges and the overlapping railways overhead. “Hope is an anomaly,” he’d told Snow, perhaps three times already, and Snow would fight to keep a straight face and nod when all he’d wanted to do was roll his eyes, say yes, he knew, any idiot would know on first glancing his application form, Hope Estheim: aged eighteen, followed by P.h.D., Masters in Philosophy, Core. U.

Eighteen. The professor could hardly believe it. Snow had come to university with his graduation cohort, eighteen himself, and entered Pulse’s fast-track programme to finish young. Snow was bright, but this Hope could be easily considered a prodigy, though perhaps not so gifted in science.

“Social science,” muttered Snow, snorting under his breath, what could that ever do for a genius. Social sciences. “He probably needs to buy some time, get a bit older. If a kid like him’s not raking in jobs, there’s no hope for our grads.”

The professor waved him off, barely looking at him, his eyes still searching the paper. “The class will be fine,” he said absentmindedly, “I’m sure Mr- Dr.- Hope-”

Snow almost laughed outright: it had to rankle the professor, how a boy of eighteen had credentials like that, like doctor. At least Snow still had time, still had years of experience left, still had growing room. He was only twenty one, teacher’s assistant, recently-graduated, still working out what he wanted to do with his life. And if he didn’t have any idea where he should go, what he should do – despite all his family asking, his foster parents imploring him to choose, proud of his grades but despairing of his position, Such potential, yeah, but – of all the things in the world that could, should, make him a happy, successful man: if he didn’t have a clue, what clue would someone like Hope have?

Genius aside, he was only eighteen.

“I’m sure Hope,” the professor continued, “has received offers, and simply desires more experience, more time to spread his wings in the sphere of academia before moving on to greater adventures.”

“Experience, adventure,” said Snow, sensing his opinion was needed. “He’s probably been pressured too much at Core.”

The professor looked pensive, but didn’t interrupt him.

“Sure, he might be genius, but no one that young is truly ready for Cocoon. He probably needs a break.”

“A break?” He seemed vaguely unsettled, as if the idea had never occurred to him. Snow guessed the professor hadn’t had anything so luxurious as a bathroom break in thirty years at the university, lack of Core politics aside; but the professor seemed like the type of guy who didn’t need breaks, who went to bed reciting Homer’s Odyssey to keep up with all the vague graduate academics who thought they were top shit for taking a major in Latin, but – Perhaps Snow needed a break. He’d heard the beach was nice this time of year.

“Mind?” said Snow, barely concealing a sigh. He held his hand out for the sheaf. The professor relinquished the papers tentatively, like they’d disappear if he took his eyes off them long enough. Hope Estheim wanted to escape politics? Snow thought a more realistic option would be to move off-planet.

“Alright,” Snow grunted. Let’s see these papers.

At first look, they didn’t appear to be the academic’s Holy Grail equivalent: just a standard set of papers, only the age and maybe the credentials being particularly noteworthy. Hope Estheim. Aged eighteen. A decent mugshot. His hair, shock silver like lightning, was probably dyed. PhD., Masters in Philosophical Sciences. His first degree, partially undertaken while the kid had been at school, was in English Literature. Sure, the talent set was pretty impressive. When had he graduated?

“See, I thought I’d brief you before classes begin today. We have an hour’s introductory tutorial in the morning, which I will lead, then followed by another hour’s lecture on Social Constructions, which-”  
“I’m taking, yeah. I’m prepared, basically. It’s more of a class participation tute, so as long as someone’s talkative, it’ll open discussion right up.”

“Good,” said the professor. Bits of colour were returning to his cheeks. “Seriously, Snow,” candid and very serious indeed, Snow, “make sure to address him as any other student, but do show him some respect.”

“Can do.”

The professor didn’t look terribly convinced, but Snow knew if he wasn’t up to standard, he wouldn’t have the job.

.

He hadn’t intended on being a teacher’s assistant, or even going to university in the first place. To start with, he’d been dead set on dropping out of common school, marrying his childhood sweetheart, and becoming a mechanic, but his friends had staged a brutal intervention: Gadot, reluctant as he was to be interfering in the springtime of Snow’s relationship with Serah, had still thrown in his two Gil when asked, he’d said Snow was being stupid, and Lightning, who’d graduated two years earlier and was, in fact, Serah’s sister, had smacked him across the face and told him how did he expect to provide for Serah when he couldn’t find a job, and didn’t he know the economy wasn’t doing so great, and we know you’re smart, Snow, just get through common.

And somewhere along the line, at Serah’s insistence, he’d started taking advice. He’d graduated, gone to university even, had completed his bachelor’s degree, graduated, and since he was still alive and on good enough terms with life, he’d done well by himself.

Somewhere else along the line, “Serah-and-Snow” had fallen apart. He’d taken off his engagement ring of five years, had the prerequisite fights and tears. Maybe in another life, with more holding them together than this, they could’ve been something. Maybe they would’ve met young, like they had in this world, and grown up and had epic adventures together and gotten married after the engagement and had kids and called the youngest Claire just to piss off Lightning, maybe they’d have had a shot, he knew they could’ve. But now he’d never know, and it stung when he thought about it; Snow being Snow, he did his best not to.

.

The train pulled in as always, only a date and time’s difference, the sky a standard, cloudless blue. The high arches of the platform were wonderful to look at, beautiful architecture that drew the eyes of tourists and locals who weren’t so accustomed to the city, but to Snow they were just more arches, more buildings, and he wasn’t one to admire beauty much unless it came in the form of a girl, long hair, nicely shaped breasts; he wasn’t too picky.

He found himself dragging his feet less now he wasn’t a student. He knew he didn’t have to put up some sort of front, but he could at least seem vaguely old and professional. He was feeling vaguely old and professional: every month, he tasted a bit less bile at the thought of completing his tax return and this evening’s grocery trip than he used to. He grunted, thoughtless, and a couple of young ladies who looked barely out of school startled, giggled and started whispering behind their hands. Maybe he wasn’t so old.

He found himself drifting as the professor began drilling him on the day’s classes, wondering if it’d be like this every day this year. He found the subject – the efficacies and drawbacks of localised migration (in small communities only, it wasn’t entirely anthropology, more on the nature of social constructs) – easy to follow and reasonably interesting, a topic he remembered covering in class in his first year at Pulse U. A micro-block in a subject he would be teaching in a few weeks’ time, to Hope Estheim and all the sorry bastards in his class. But. Snow had to admit that for all the responsible grocery shopping and getting to bed before one in the morning and walking-and-talking-straight bullshit he did these days, he was nervous.

He guessed it wasn’t entirely because of Hope, though his presence didn’t help. The sky was blue, the day blisteringly clear, he’d woken up and gone for a run to get his mind off the day, even taken a shower. By all accounts, he should feel great, starting a new job. But.

“You’re unusually quiet this morning,” said the professor, looking up at him. Snow towered over almost everyone he met, bigger around the shoulders than most guys his own height, but that didn’t stop him from feeling flat and small when the professor said, shrewdly, “You’re nervous, yes?”

“Er,” said Snow. The back of his neck itched and prickled with dry discomfort, but he brushed it off. “Yeah.”

“An unfamiliar feeling, I take it.”

He couldn’t respond to that without sounding like an asshole, so he didn’t. Truth was, he rarely felt nervous, if ever. Lightning told him it was his lack of foresight that granted him this small blessing – nothing to be nervous about if you weren’t looking to the future. He’d always been a live-in-the-moment person. One of the many things Serah had liked about him, to begin with, but she’d gotten sick of it in the end, hadn’t she.

“Tell me, Snow, what do you enjoy doing?”

“Outside of, uh, this?” He raised his hand vaguely; they were entering the university, already teeming with students. The buildings were fairly concentrated, but the grounds sprawled in all directions out into the Pulse, and were firmly gated. It’d look intimidating to a freshman: there were a few of them, arrived a little early, just standing around and taking it in. It was pretty humble compared to something like Core U., but still impressive.

“Always brightest on the first day of the new year,” said the professor, wryly. “And yes. I’m sure a bright young man like you has hobbies, Snow.”

“Well, sure,” said Snow, thinking. “I go to the gym. Fix up a few bikes on weekends. I bought a PS4 yesterday.”

“And do you play any sports?”

He’d played a few back in common schooling, but there was only one he’d really stuck at. “Melee.”

“Fighting tournaments?” The professor sounded almost surprised; Snow supposed it wasn’t common for social science or engineering majors to be too invested in the ring. But Snow found an outlet in fighting that other exercise, the gym, even boxing just couldn’t give him. He found no joy in punching people’s faces in if he couldn’t switch Paradigms halfway, change strategy and system and rules depending on his opponent and his team. He didn’t know how to express this to the professor, though, who didn’t look like he’d fought a day in his life.

Instead, he said, “Alright. Consider teaching like a Melee tournament. This was an analogy given to me on my first day here, and it’s stuck with me ever since. I don’t know much about Melee, but from what my niece tells me, it’s a sort of strategized battle?”

“Sure,” said Snow. “You have your team of two or three, your matched opponents. Then you fight it out with the Paradigm system – sets of rules you need to keep up play – until you win or lose.”

“And do you feel nervous going into a tournament?”

“Confident, mostly. A bit of adrenaline when we’re up against tough competitors.”

They had reached the building centrally reserved for humanities and human sciences, tall and white and circular, with a bunch of glass panels to serve as windows. Though beautiful, its spire was distinctly tilted, an architectural blunder visible from the station, a campus joke. Snow and the Professor had to pause to let another lecturer out, who nodded briskly before hurrying off across the courtyard, in a cloud of papers.

“And,” said the professor, leading the way up the massive flight of stairs that wound along the building’s centre constructs, “I’m supposing your tournaments have an audience?”

“The crowds get pretty big now,” Snow said, grinning. His team was good, he and Lightning and Vanille, sometimes subbed in for by Gadot when she had too much work for school. Top of the non-pro circuit.

“Consider your whole class to be novice competitors,” the professor told him. “But rather than looking to fight you, they’re a crowd of students, watching how you move, which strategies, or Paradigms you use. They’re looking to you as a role model. Do you feel nervous?”

“I guess? I’m a good fighter, there isn’t much I’d do differently if we had kids watching. But I’m not…” Snow made a noise of frustration, looking down at his hands.

“You are a good teacher,” the professor said firmly. His voice was powerful for a small guy, and made a few students look around, startled. Snow tried to duck his head, flush raising on his neck. “You’ve passed all of our assessments with flying colours. You have a gruff manner, certainly, but you do know your work, and your age enables you to work closely with all of our students. You’re bright, Snow, and advantaged.”

Yeah. It wasn’t like him to be so concerned over what kids thought of him. Most of them were a good five years younger than him, and the gap at this age was broad.

“I appreciate that,” he said. “Thanks for the, ah, the pep-talk.”

“And with Hope Estheim,” the professor continued, “there’s little point in judging your skills with him as a benchmark. The brighter students like to backtalk- ” Snow had liked backtalking himself, had engaged in lively, marginally aggressive ‘debates’ with all of his teachers whenever he hadn’t agreed with them, and it had been often; now, he’d regret it, come full-circle to handle backtalking students of his own (Snow could practically hear the ghosts of his past lecturers laughing harshly, commiserating) “-blow a lot of hot air, you know, but they’re not all bad. Morning, Dean.”

The professor ducked into the staffroom to grab a file from his desk. It turned out to be a class register, more mugshots to match each name. Dr Dean Vorper, an ancient civilisations lecturer who’d always been decent to Snow, nodded and said, “Morning, Haise, Snow. Good to have you back.”

“Good to be here,” said Snow, politely enough.

“First day?”

“He’ll be fine,” said the professor, Haise Mellow, from Snow’s elbow. “Always a bit nerve-wracking, the first lecture.”

“Nervous?” Dean raised an eyebrow, and Snow’s lip curved. “Snow Villiers, nervous? A year ago, I’d say I’d die before the day ever came.”

Snow figured he was playing nice, but the words had a bite to them that ticked Snow off. “I guess now, I’ve got good reason to be.”

“Right,” said Dean, shaking his head. “Good luck, Snow.”

Snow nodded, and the professor said, “You as well, Dean,” before they were off again, out the door and into a side corridor. The sun shone brilliantly between the panes of glass, and even after all these years, it still felt strange to have sun above them, moving across the sky and sinking, instead of the phoenix on Cocoon and warm glow of Snow’s hometown.

“Do attempt to play nice with your colleagues,” said the professor, without pausing, making him tear his gaze away from the windows and towards the lecture hall, and Snow’s impending embarrassment.

“Yes, sir,” he drawled, and gave a half-mocking salute to the professor’s back.

.

The hall was around three quarters full. Snow had to admit, he was impressed: their aggressive marketing campaign seemed to be paying off, luring more undergraduates each year. About two hundred young faces, all part of the incoming class of social science majors and minors, all staring down at the professor and Snow.

He felt a prickling at the edges of his awareness, the same sense he got when he was in Melee. Snow didn’t put much stock in intuition but, in those instances, it always led him right: and right now, his intuition told him the majority of students were more interested in him than the good professor Haise.

Still, the professor climbed the two steps to the small podium, and addressed the hushed audience.

“Undergraduates,” he said, voice resonating through the microphone. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, he began scanning the audience for any sign of Hope. One way or the other, he thought dryly, there may be some hope quite aside from the professor’s prodigy child.

“Congratulations. I hope you’re all as excited to be here today as we are to begin teaching you. My name is Professor Haise Mellow. I will be joined this year in the delivery of your education by our new assistant lecturer and doctoral student, Snow Villiers. Our esteemed department, I’m sure, is very fortunate to have so many bright young people joining us this year.”

The hall broke into applause. Snow searched and searched, but Hope Estheim was entirely inconspicuous, grey hair lost in a bright cloud of new students.

The professor continued his introductions and commendations, naming a few important departmental figureheads Snow knew from experience they’d become familiar with.

Snow saw an older girl sitting in the crowd – a familiar girl, with short dark hair and sharp eyes. She smiled and waved at him. He couldn’t wave back, but he did grin.

Lebreau was one of fifteen or so postgraduates in the crowd, here only to watch the initial formalities before disappearing off to their own masters tutes or labs. She’d been in Snow’s class: she, Yuj, Maqui, and Gadot, all just graduated (like JUST MARRIED: now committed to work, to life, to paying rent). Maqui had majored in engineering and been leagues ahead of Snow when it came to any sort of mechanical knowledge, Yuj more affiliated with the arts and design department to be anywhere near respectable in the built world faculty, but they’d all gotten strung together somehow (he could blame Gadot for all of it, Snow’s best friend since childhood who’d staged the intervention, come to college, it’ll be great, and now Snow was -- here).

Now, the professor had finished, looking at Snow like he expected something. His hands twitched reflexively into sweaty fists and he had to manually unclench them as he strode up to the stand; he looked out over the crowd, up until third row back, and spotted him.

His eyes were sharp, and Hope Estheim was beautiful. Yuj would call him a flower child, androgynous model: soft grey hair and delicate features. From what Snow could see, he had slim shoulders, small-framed, though the hard lines of his jaw and (where his shirt fell across his sharp collar) the pale junction of his neck and shoulders were decidedly masculine.

He didn't seem haughty; rather, Hope’s expression was open, young, disarmed, the sort of look Snow would have expected of a more standard eighteen year old.

Snow coughed to clear his throat. “Uh.” Goddammit. “Hey, everyone. As the Professor said, congratulations on making it here. I came to Pulse University not knowing for certain where I was going in life,” and you still don’t, you hypocrite, seriously, “or what I should do, and a good friend pointed me towards social sciences. But we all got into the swing of things pretty quickly, and I graduated from the faculty last year. Turns out it was the best advice I was ever given.” His eyes fell like stones, path true, to meet Hope’s. “It doesn’t matter where you come from, your previous history, or what your aspirations are in life: you’ll have the time here to find out for yourself what you like and what you’re good at. Hopefully,” he said, with a wry smile, “they’ll be one and the same.”

The crowd laughed, and Snow felt himself thaw just a little bit more.

“I’m not a professor yet,” he continued, “But I will be your lecturer and tutor for some of the broader subjects we offer. With all that said,” and here he glanced at the Professor, who smiled and nodded encouragingly, “If you ever find yourself uncomfortable talking to one of our more senior lecturers about any course-related problems, feel free to come and find me. And if I don’t see you, good luck in orientation.”

Hope’s eyes were burning, and when Snow descended the stand to a second round of exuberant applause, Snow saw he didn’t clap with them.

“Good work,” said the Professor, in his ear. “Unconventional, but solid.”

*

Lightning was first to open the door. She stood a moment, assessing them in her cool, detached way. Snow had always gotten the uncanny feeling she could see right through him and out the other side.

“You made it,” she said, at length. “And this must be Hope.”

“Said I would.” Snow glanced down at Hope, stiff under his coat, the nice beige one he’d insisted on collecting from his apartment before they came. He wanted to make a good impression – but, judging how Lightning’s eyes had softened in a sort of motherly way Snow only saw when she looked at her sister, the kid had nothing to worry about.

“I apologise for intruding,” said Hope, tremulous.

“Not at all,” said Lightning. They paused, sizing each other up. Lightning was only slightly taller than Hope, but this was her home, her territory. She stood lax against the door, leaning there as Hope crossed his fingers in his pockets. He always did that when he was nervous, when he got a test back, when he saw Snow on the verge of a knock-out blow or victory.

But Hope met her eyes and said, very formally, “thank you for inviting me,” and then she smiled kindly and took his hand, led him inside where Serah hugged him and Noah shook his hand, and Snow just sort of watched from the doorway and wondered if he should feel as relieved as he did.

*

“Good work,” Lebreau said, as Snow emerged from the hall moments later. The other postgraduates were trickling out, the professor having begun an Introduction to Social Sciences, heading to the library or faculty meetings. “You sure know how to give a pep-talk, Snow.”

“Yeah, alright,” said Snow, bumping her shoulder. “Congrats yourself, Masters. Since when were you planning on continuing here?”

“Just came over from Economics to watch your first presentation as an honest to god tutor.” Her voice was teasing; Snow found himself quickly sliding into the old back-and-forth, routine. “Seriously, you had… character, there’s the word!”

“Economics, huh?”

“Business.”

“Finally decided to open up that restaurant?”

“I have,” she said, all too decisively. “I’m done sitting on my ass waiting for the world to come to me, you know?”

“Sure,” said Snow, “I get that.”

“You, working,” Lebreau said dryly. “You’ve kicked everyone’s asses into gear. Yuj is very determined to get that fashion line going before you get your first pay check.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say I’m kicked into gear. You know how it is, everyone’s excited for orientation.”

“Even you? You look pretty cut out for academics without that beanie on your head.”

“Hey,” he protested, but like everything with Lebreau, it was token. “I might not stay an academic. We don’t have to decide what to do with our lives yet.”

“You know, big guy,” and she accentuates this with two warm pats to the shoulder. “I never did get why you didn’t up and join the army. You’ve got all the credentials, your dad being in Command and all.”

“Decided getting blown to pieces wasn’t my thing.”

“Taking orders isn’t your thing.”

“Well,” he said, grinning, “that too. Military’s not really my style.”

“Melee’s your style,” she said, mouth twisting into a disapproving frown. It made Snow’s hair stand on end, with how much she resembled the looks his mother gave him before his bigger tournaments.

“Can’t go competitive in Melee.” Unsaid: without high risk of a head injury. Though he’d considered it. “Maybe I want to do something more fulfilling.”

She smiled, her eyes crinkling, and he felt himself smiling back. “Can’t argue with that sort of logic. Hey, Gadot was talking this morning about a catch up. He was wondering if you’re free this weekend.”

“Tell your boyfriend to call me himself.” Gadot had come over all nostalgic recently, ever since he’d started work at the shop, but hadn’t wanted to show it to Snow. In a different world, they might have been there together, but he’s finding himself growing less and less attached to engineering, and he’s never been one to regret his choices.

“I’ll let him know you’re free, then,” said Lebreau. Her smile turned predatory. “But let me know if you nab a date with whatever girl you were eyeing up in the hall earlier, hmm? I know we’re all keen to hear the next gripping tale in the full saga of your terrible romances.”

“Not even going to argue with you.”

She just laughed – he grunted, ran a hand through his hair. It feels weird, brushed all neat and gelled back, different to the shaggy mess he’s grown out. “Tell Gadot I’m free, there’s no girl.”

“Snow, you can’t lie to me.” And she sounded like an honest to god girl, so much so it’s jarring; they all think of Lebreau as one of the guys, with how uncouth she acts. You can’t lie to me was way too reminiscent of the Farron sisters to be anything less than incredibly female. “You and Gadot both, those stupid looks on your faces whenever an alright girl wanders past.”

“There’s no girl,” he said again, but she just looked at him like she knew it all, could read every truth on his stupid face.

“Thinks he can lie to me,” she muttered, pulling out her phone, “Why do I put up with you men? Alright. Free Saturday. No. Date.”

“Yeah, yeah, just wait. The year’s young.”

They hugged, briefly – the custom between her and any of them, having told them all repeatedly she doesn’t want to be murdered by hard slaps on the back – and Snow was halfway back to the lecture hall before he realised, Hope, and that she’d probably mistaken his assessment of an eighteen year old kid for the sort of up-and-down he gives most girls.

.

He came in through the back, sat down in one of the rear seats, and paid close attention to the lecture. Or he tried. He felt his mind drifting a bit, but he tried to take in how the professor worked to engage his audience, the class size having shrunk to around a hundred, basics to social sciences. It’s like a recording, a datalog he could recite by heart. Snow steeled himself, though he already felt far less antsy than he had earlier that morning.

His eyes moved automatically to the third row, where Hope was still sitting. On all accounts, the kid was glued to the lecture like every other kid in the hall. He, like every other kid in the hall, were on their best behaviour for the first day, not wanting to make a bad impression too fast (even though some of them inevitably would).

The only differentiate between Hope and every other kid in the hall were the sounds of widespread frantic scribbling and tapping, taking as many notes as possible on subjects relevant or irrelevant, it didn’t seem to matter. Hope just sat there, watching the lecture, not making a move for his notebook or bag. Either he was confident in his eidetic memory – Snow assumed he had one; no one got so far in life so young solely on hard work – or he wasn’t paying attention. He knew the professor would say the former, but Snow knew students, and thought it was a 50-50 toss.

.

Hope came up to him after the lecture he’d just delivered, a smaller class, Intro to Human Systems (and Dynamics, soon to be rechristened IHS by every student); he stood like a rock in high water, his classmates leaving the hall, loud talk floating to the top like rising heat.

“Excuse me,” he said, softly.

Snow looked up, or more literally down, because Hope Estheim really was small. His features were more angular and pronounced up close, but proximity only seemed to add to how goddamn pretty he was. His nose was small, his eyes wide and grey, his hair feathering about his ears.

Snow had to swallow, as inconspicuously as possible, because he hadn’t had thought time enough to retract his kneejerk reaction to girls, girls, with his kid-student, a kid, staring up at him like this.

“Yeah, what’s up?” And so he didn’t blow his cover, “What’s your name?”

“Hope Estheim,” said the boy. “And you’re Snow Villiers.”

“Good to meet you.”

They shook hands. Hope’s grip was strong for someone his size, with his hand almost crushed in Snow’s larger one.

“Meet you again,” Hope corrected. “This discussion doesn’t quite fall within course-related problems, but I’ve seen you at tournaments. You’re the leader of Vanille’s team.”

Snow hadn’t had the time to expect much, but this definitely wouldn’t have been what he’d expected, even if he’d had a full week to ruminate between first seeing Hope and first meeting him in person. Or; “You know Vanille?”

“I do know Vanille,” said Hope, and he smiled a bit. His voice was also more mature than Snow had thought it would be: low rather than deep. It somehow matched him, pulling all the parts of him together into a very male whole, but Snow couldn’t help reconciling the image of Hope with the side of himself who’d taken out, dated, had sex with, been engaged to, girls very much more feminine than Hope.

“She’s good,” said Snow, sounding leagues more confident than he was. “We couldn’t do without her.”

“I know.”

Snow is silent for a moment, unsure how to respond. Hope seems on the verge of saying something else, but hesitates. He wonders if people with minds like Hope’s have a hard time keeping up with their own thoughts.

“Do you train?”

“With Vanille, sometimes. But I don’t think I’m cut out for Melee.”

“Hey, everyone’s got a strength,” said Snow, putting his hands in his pockets. The others have left the hall, left them alone. He figures Hope must be halfway decent if he’s friendly with a girl like Vanille. “Maybe you’re not cut out for Commanding, but you might work as a Sentinel.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Hope. He sounded slightly bitter, like the benchwarmers on bigger teams. “I just. Saw you and wanted to tell you, you’re a great leader.”

“Well, I try, kid,” said Snow, grinning. Hope looked momentarily put-out, but Snow hurried to continue, “You’re a PhD, I reckon you’re easily as impressive as any team leader in some rookie sport.”

Hope flushed. Snow stared; the flush had its own appeal, like a separate entity. He told himself it was endearing. Endearing. He could hear himself, and the laughter in his skull sounded strangely like Lightning.

“It’s not amazing,” he murmured. “I would rather be nobody here, just some rookie who can’t Melee.”

Snow understood. “Alright, Hope,” he said. “If you’re free weeknights, follow your friend Vanille down to the gym. I’ll work with you.”

He looked startled, then panicked, and backed up a step. The flyaways of his hair moved with him. “No,” he said, “It wasn’t my intention to ask you for training.”

“Don’t think of it as training,” said Snow. Every natural instinct he had urging him on, he reached out and touched Hope’s hair. “It’s healthy to exercise; you can’t study your life away.”

Talking out of his ass again – Snow had never been particularly health conscious – but Hope seemed to buy into it. He ducked his head, endearingly, and said something along the lines of a very fast goodbye before quickly leaving the hall, the tall lines of his back and slimness of his hips left Snow leaning against his desk and shaking himself.

*

“So,” said Snow, leaning over Hope’s shoulder. “What’re you working on?”

“You’re sweating.”

“It’s hot in here.” He pressed closer to Hope’s neck, rubbing his chin against the skin there, warm and scratchy. “Don’t’cha think?”

“Apparently, I don’t,” said Hope, wryly, and he gestured to the papers on his desk. “A team member miscalculated, these are the results. The Academy will have to wait another week for its report.” There was an undercurrent of frustration in his words, one Snow had learned to pick up on over the weeks and months he’d known Hope. It hinted at a more brooding, petulant temper than the collected intellect he commonly showed, bearing his youth.

“Increased transit times, right? For scientists.”

Hope turned to look at him, smiling briefly and leaning into how Snow cupped his face. He’d cut his hair, tamed it. Snow thought it made him look older, more handsome than pretty, which was fine by him, but meant Hope attracted more attention on the streets than he used to. “For scientists,” he confirmed. “Time-travelling scientists.”

Snow grimaced, ran his thumb across Hope’s cheek. “Still making you work on that, are they?”

“It’s my choice to work with the Academy,” said Hope, defiant. “Their offer-”

“-was once in a lifetime, yadda yadda.” He sighed roughly, taking in the shadow of Hope’s jaw, the circles under his eyes. “Just making sure this is what you want to do, not the Academy.”

“Snow.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s my choice.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Snow knew Hope; in some ways, better than he knew himself. The call to duty was strong in that boy, so much so he often confused his own wishes with the wants and needs of others. But there wasn’t much Snow could say without stepping on Hope’s toes, and Hope’s life was his own, he supposed. So he leaned down, over Hope’s shoulder (he was getting taller, every month they spent together) and said, “I love you.”

Hope’s head turned slightly. He smiled and kissed Snow on the mouth. “You’re an idiot,” he said. “I love you, too.”

*

He arrived home that night – after the gym, Hope having been a no-show – to find Lightning sitting at his kitchen table. She’d defrosted the steaks he’d left in the fridge and was in the process of demolishing them, one after the other.

After five months of him supposedly living alone, this was a common occurrence, and Snow blamed himself for allowing it. They didn’t so much as glance at each other as Snow left his boots at the door and headed for a shower.

With any luck, Lightning would be gone when he came out; but this, too, was 50-50. His luck had peaked too soon with Hope’s abrupt disappearance after class, and Snow seriously doubted his ability to remain cold through any training session with Hope in the room. He’d be unfit, though he didn't look it, maybe sweat easily. Maybe he was fat under all those clothes.

He snorted, lathered shampoo.

The whole deal with Hope – and really, there was no deal with Hope; maybe Hope had known him by sight, but Snow had seen him just today – was… not something he could comprehend. Not that Snow was some sort of master genius PhD, but he figured he was sort of liberal in his ethos. Even then, this kid had come along and hit him like a freighter.

He wasn’t against guys who had always been so inclined, figuring it’d be a waste of an opinion: they didn’t affect him, engaged to Serah for as long as he’d been, and while he was happy with her, the rest of the world could go along doing whatever.

He’d been weirdly curious, he guessed, back when he was young and more hot-headed. He’d tried looking at other guys that way, seeing what the girls were going on about, but no man had ever done anything for him the way a good girl could, a girl like Serah or any one of the women he’d dated when she left him. Thinking about a guy touching him like that, no matter how objectively good looking, made him feel nothing but a vague yet unsettling sense of discontent.

Hope probably looked enough like a girl to delude him into actually believing it. Anyone could see he was beautiful, definitely on the prettier side, but feminine? Snow stuck his head under the spray and didn’t think of it again.

(Luck had been merciful, for once: Lightning had left with a note of thanks and a borrowed pair of Snow’s gloves balled up on the table.)

.

He tried to put Hope out of his mind, but the world was a smaller place than he knew. Hope seemed to be everywhere, now they both resided permanently in the Scisoc building, passing Snow in corridors and on his way out of lectures with nervous smiles, one time having to enter the staffroom to talk to another teacher and standing by Snow’s desk, right there, so close he could see how his hair fell around his neck and bunched up in the beanie he wore.

Snow knew he could become infatuated pretty easily. He knew he was probably infatuated now, but it didn’t help. He found his eyes straying all too often, and he knew Hope noticed from the way he met his gaze, then looked down and let that hair fall in his own eyes, like he’d been the one staring.

*

It was a quieter night at the bar when Gadot spoke up, looked across at Snow.

“I’m gonna marry her,” he said.

Snow let the requisite amount of time pass for Gadot to think he was taking the information in, really processing it, when he’d known for years the day was coming. Yuj, Maqui, they had bets on it; back in the day, they’d lost money thinking Snow would be the first, but Gadot’s was real. He deserved this, Snow thought, and wasn’t bitter. Hope had been promoted to project manager, overseeing the Academy’s theoretical science division, which meant a great deal of celebration, and a generally happy apartment. The itch under Snow’s skin had grown continuous; he wanted Hope, every minute of the day.

“Good for you,” said Snow, clapping Gadot on the shoulder. “When’s the wedding?”

“Slow down, I haven’t given her the ring yet. But, ah, you know I love her. She told me she feels the same. So, I figure, any day now.”

“Course she loves you. She’ll accept, you know, whenever you ask her. Even if you fuck it up, she’ll still say yes.”

Lebreau returned then, giving them suspicious looks from across the bar, as though she knew they’d been speaking about her. Gadot looked guilty, but smiled at her and took her hand across the table, and she smiled back.

*

“Look,” Serah said, when she called on Wednesday night. “We think you should come to Cocoon with us for the holidays.”

“Sure,” said Snow, uncomfortably. “Your sister mentioned it.”

“Lightning said she did, but you sounded like you didn’t want to be there. She said, maybe, it would be best if I called.”

Before engagement had put the pressure on, Serah’s soft, hesitant voice had been the source of a few of his better dreams. She sounded tentative even now, talking to him, even someone who’d been to him what she had. Snow looked over at the bottle of rum he kept up above the cups and plates, and sighed.

“Yeah, ‘right. If you’re okay with that.”

“It’s alright,” Serah hastened to reassure, “We don’t mind. Snow… you know I’m seeing someone, right?”

“Right,” he said, pouring himself a glass. He paused. “He’s coming too, s’he?”

He could hear the smile in Serah’s voice. “Yes. It won’t just be us: Lightning will be there, and Fang, and Vanille. Maqui and Lebreau should be coming too.” While Serah wasn’t as friendly with them as Snow was, they’d always gotten along fairly well; Maqui was working on Cocoon already, some engineering and mechanics job for the Sanctum.

Snow took a long drink, and said, “I’ll come. Get Lightning off my ass at least.”

Serah laughed, nervously, and Snow wondered where along the line she’d become wary of him. “You know… Lightning didn’t tell me you were seeing anyone, but if you were, you could invite her along too?”

Right. Sounded like a great idea, inviting some girl up to holiday with his ex-partner, her sister, and what’d turn out to be most of their friends once Lebreau convinced Gadot to show up (and Yuj would find out and tell her he couldn’t make it, but would somehow manage to show up on the day regardless). Great idea. Lightning had been on him about it for months; she probably knew he’d take some time to sway.

“Yeah, alright,” he said again, knowing he sounded like a broken record but not wanting to sound any more thrilled than he had to be. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” said Serah, kindly. “We’ll see you on Friday then, yeah?”

He’d forgotten about Friday. The dinner he’d told Lightning he’d be at. Serah would be there, with her new boyfriend, and he’d been borderline dreading it right up until now. Now, when he thought about it, it wasn’t such a problem, he didn’t feel the sort of crushing envy that came from not really wanting someone yourself but not wanting them to belong to another, either, and he thought about what the hell had changed in two days to make him fully come to terms with the concept of Serah moving on with her life.

It was oddly liberating, hopeful. “We’ve got a Melee match at five, but we’ll make it.”

“After Melee,” she said, with a note of relief, and Snow felt vaguely guilty for making her feel bad. It’d been long enough, years, to move on. “Good luck for your fight!”

“You’ll be there to see us win!”  
.

The last night, the Thursday, they’d planned to practice sparring, but Lightning had pulled out last minute. She’d had some paper to finish up, she’d said, but they ran formations over the phone and when to pull them, decided Snow should Command first and switch to Ravage later. They’d have to pull Vanille as medic, but it’d be a small price to pay if their dual attack worked.

It was a brief and deserved departure from Snow’s work, the pile of assignments he had to grade – and who gave out three thousand word assignments in the first week of classes? He’d left Hope’s til last, thinking he might be disillusioned enough by the end of grading to be more impartial, but it hadn’t helped; Hope’s short thesis on micro-environmental cultural change turned out to be doctorate standard.

Thursday meant sweating off all thought of Hope or Serah, of anything at all but the bars in his hands and the steady strain of weights and pulling muscles, actions numbing, repetitive, and Snow had the space entirely to himself.

He stacked fifty either side of the bar, gritted his teeth and pushed to the ceiling. One, two, five, fifteen, and three minutes’ break. The back of his neck prickled. It wasn’t rare to be watched, here; the gym was a public space, and he couldn’t say he cared too much either way; admirers here spurred him on. But then a cold, intrusive thought came to him: what if, what if it’s Hope?

Show off, he thought savagely, and pushed himself into another round of reps on bench, his form better, smoother than the last set of fifteen, the weight more effortless. Show off. It was something instinctual, something the professor hadn’t taken into account when he’d first brought up the Melee analogy: when he taught, he didn’t feel this primal need to prove himself, to impress, to perform for the crowd. The girls – and now Hope – made the match, and no matter how much Lightning would scoff at him for saying so, this fundamental difference signified that, while Lightning may be the more effective leader, Snow was the more popular performer.

If Hope was watching – and a buried part of Snow hoped he was – he might (be impressed or want him or something like those girls). God. He leaves the thought off, one last push and he’s done. And he opens his eyes to see Vanille. She beams and claps, and Snow grins back at her for a moment before catching sight of the boy behind her, all done up in sneakers and tracksuit pants, near-drowning in oversized gym gear. It’s as if the hours he’d spent trying to convince himself he didn’t at least find the boy appealing had never existed.

“Well,” chirped Vanille, “here he is!” She looked cute, her bubblegum hair tied up in pigtails. But how was it that while she, pretty and eighteen, looked merely endearing, Hope was something he looked at – even now, in his badly-fitting clothes, his nails chewed off – and wanted?

“Hey,” said Snow, sounding more breathless than he’d liked. Vanille just drifted aside in his line of vision; he barely registered her presence for all that Hope consumed it. He looked tired, dark circles setting in under his eyes, and the semester had just started who on earth was working the kid so hard. He appeared young, his skin was pale and smooth, still growing, but when he looked up at Snow, his eyes were markedly older, bright, intelligent.

Snow had to stop himself, tell himself he’s no kid, he probably graduated while you were still in high school. It left the door open to a lot of dangerous possibilities.

“Hey,” said Hope, and he blushed. It ran light across his cheekbones, the tips of his ears going red.

“You here to train?”

“I’ll try, but no promises,” he said.

“You’ll be stronger than me in no time,” said Snow. He couldn’t help himself, he wanted to see more of that blush, he winked. “Vanille, you wanna tag along?”

Hope’s blush had spread, more delicate than hectic, but Snow was pretty infatuated. It almost didn't matter his age, they were only a few years apart, didn’t matter that Hope was basically his student, that Hope was male: the blood rushing to his head said fuck it, from the way he’s blushing he likes the look of you, probably wants you, might’ve been thinking about you the same way he’s been on your mind for days.

Vanille giggled – Snow had to stop himself from hiding his face with his hand – and said, “Sure. But I need to go running first, to improve my stamina. So I’ll come find you two later?”

It wasn’t a question, from the way she waved and patted Hope on the shoulder; he was about a head taller than her, but he’d barely graze Snow’s chin if he pulled him in for, let’s say, a hug. Vanille skipped off to the treadmills without sticking around for a response.

It left Snow with no other diversion. The kid looked different from how he did in school: less put-together and confident, the way he answered questions in his lectures, not as sure of himself. He seemed to be avoiding Snow’s eyes, looking everywhere but up at him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Snow told him. “You can relax, we’re not starting you on that.” He meant the bar, but Hope didn’t laugh.

“You say that a lot,” muttered Hope, without malice. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself. I happen to like saying hello to you.”

Hope wasn’t wrong, it was all he had time to say in the corridors, a quick greeting before they both went off back to whatever else. It’d only been four days, but it was a small world, and the more Snow looked for Hope the more he saw of him. They’d spoken more at other times: a few minutes on Tuesday morning, a decent half-hour after class this morning, but both times they’d spoken only of the lesson and some opinion another kid had raised. This was unfamiliar territory, the work-life barrier dropped, and now. Now Hope smiled, and he basically never smiled in school.

“Sure.”

“I’m serious,” said Snow, sheepish. “You’re, uh, less of a kid than the other kids, you know? You’re company.”

“High praise.” But he was still smiling down at his shoes, so Snow couldn’t have failed too catastrophically. “Thanks. For helping me out.”

“It’s no trouble,” Snow told him. “Know how to warm up?”

Hope shook his head a little, let Snow guide him over to a more open space on the floor for him to stretch, guide him through the stretches. His baggy shirt rode up a little on his back, the pale column of Hope’s spine. He made little noise, even when Snow pushed him to touch his head to his toes: none of Lightning’s grunting or Vanille’s soft huffs of triumph.

“Is this okay?” he asked quietly, as his head touched his knees, and Snow couldn’t help but assure him, honestly, that it was fine, he was doing a great job, with a dry mouth.

“Keep it there,” said Snow, and moved to grab a few of the lighter hand weights from the rack. “You can try these first, alright? They should be light enough.”

Hope was looking at him; still not quite at his face, but more so at his torso. Not moving to get up, he said, “How did you become so strong?”

“How’d you become so smart?”

“I never tried to be,” said Hope, frowning.

“Then, I wanted to protect the people I loved. Sounds sort of dumb, now, doesn’t it? When I was a kid, that’s how I thought.”

Hope paused, then lifted himself and took the weights without a word. “Now what do I do?”

“You lift ‘em,” Snow grinned. “Straight out to your sides.”

“Like this?”

“Alright! A bit higher.” Snow put his hands under Hope’s elbows and guided them up; the weights were only small, ten on each hand, but Hope made a small noise of surprise when the strain began to hit at his triceps. “Keep ‘em straight.”

Snow counted him through the ten, then fifteen, Hope’s face looking increasingly flushed in a way that was far less attractive, a way Snow could relate to, but still.

Hope sighed as he set the weights down, said, “Why are you doing this?”

“Huh? This?”

He scowled, although Hope seemed more frustrated with himself than anything else. “This. Training me. If I needed training, I could’ve asked Vanille.”

“Well, I asked, and you accepted,” Snow said, confused by his sudden change of heart. “You seemed eager enough when I last spoke with you.”

“You’ve known me four days.”

“Sure,” said Snow, “We could get to know each other better, since I’m not officially your teacher and all. I wanted to help, don’t worry about it! Come to our match tomorrow night.”

“I- What?”

“Our match,” Snow repeated, more slowly, the beginnings of elation rising in his chest. “The Melee match. Vanille’d probably invite you anyway, but I wanted to get in there first.”

“I- Thank you.”

“’s no problem. I can’t tell much about you yet, but you seem like a good kid.”

“There’s not much to like,” said Hope, under his breath. “I’m wasting your time,” petulant, obviously not intending for Snow to actually hear him, maybe thinking himself short enough for the sound to escape his notice. Snow figured he felt down on himself over how heavy he’d found the weights; poor body image wasn’t really a guy thing, but it wasn’t that uncommon.

“You’re too hard on yourself. You're smart, you seem, uh, thoughtful. You’re driven, which is more than I was, in college.” And seeing that Hope still looked despondent, which Snow was coming to see was Hope’s natural state in life, he took a risk, and said, “And with a face like that, any girl’d like you.”

“I don’t like girls,” said Hope, shortly.

“Oh,” said Snow. Then he paused, recalculating. His list of excuses was growing dangerously low. He was down to only the base ones: he might get bored of Hope, they might start having sex and Snow would find himself put off, having a penis that wasn’t his own right there, in front of his face, that Hope’s type of guy would be the opposite of large and brash as Snow.

“I should’ve assumed it would be a problem for you,” said Hope, with barely restrained anger. “I’ll just leave, then.”

“Hey now.” Snow panicked, reaching out and catching Hope’s slim shoulder. He was warm, barely broken a sweat, but he froze up under Snow’s touch, shaking a little. He’d never met someone who had such visceral reactions to the world, who wore their emotions on their entire body. “Kid, it’s okay, ‘s not something I care about.”

“Stop calling me that,” said Hope. “You don’t have to lie, it’s the same look my. Just. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

Snow took a slow, shaky breath. “That’s not it. Hope, I don’t care, ‘s not the sort of thing I care about. And. You’re not a kid. I’m sorry.”

And Hope turned to face him, and something in his gut gave out.

“Don’t be,” said Hope, and whetted his lips. “It’s my-”

He broke off, made this muffled noise of surprise Snow could hear but couldn’t see, because Snow had broken past himself, restraint lost. He’d put a hand on the small of Hope’s back and kissed him.

He cradled Hope’s face as though it would break apart at any second, felt that if he pressed his lips too hard against Hope’s or gripped too tight it could all be over as suddenly as it had started, the rush of blood to the head, the way Snow wanted him.

Hope struggled in his arms for the briefest moment. Then, all at once, the tension fled his body; he melted into Snow like he was fitted, surged up into his chest to return it, lifted up by Snow’s hand on his thigh and carving his hands into Snow’s hair.

“Been thinking about this for days,” Snow groaned against his lips, and Hope shivered as he was tugged closer, harder. “Ever since I saw you.”

“That’s- You’re. Snow!”

Snow hitched his hand to cup Hope’s ass in a large palm, backed up against the long mirror on an otherwise blank stretch of wall now, kissing down Hope’s neck as he moaned and bared his neck for Snow to take and seeming, impossibly like a fantasy, to like this as much as Snow did, bruising the pale of his skin, making them both dizzy with arousal.

“We can’t here,” said Hope, and he sounded out of breath, lost, more unfocused than Snow had seen him.

“The gym’s empty,” Snow groaned; he could barely get enough of Hope, a thousand images he’d pushed out of his head come real, and his confusion over Hope’s face, his gender, didn’t seem to make as much sense now when what he seemed to want was more. And he claimed Hope’s mouth again, his pretty lips and the sweet taste of Hope’s tongue, the boy’s breath hitching as his legs tightened around Snow’s waist.

A shocked gasp split the silence.

They broke apart, Hope’s face beautifully flushed, his eyes cloudy but wide. “Vanille,” he groaned, sounding horrified. His hands tightened in Snow’s shirt.

“Snow,” said Vanille. She looked between the pair of them and the floor, smiling uncertainly. “Please put Hope down? Maybe Hope and I should go home, now.”

“Uh. Of course,” he said, mortified. “Here you go.”

.

Then Hope and Vanille had gone home, both refusing to look at him, standing as if lost in the middle of the otherwise empty gym (he couldn’t get the startled, betrayed, shocked look on Hope’s face out of his head).

.

He found Gadot in Nora bar, as expected, chatting up Lebreau at the counter. Snow strolled in, trying to look like he hadn’t been cheated out of what would probably have been a round of great sex with Hope – with Hope underneath him, maybe on one of the benches, pushing up against him – and Lebreau was looking up at him and grimacing like he was the interloper, which made him feel a little betrayed.

“Snow!” At least Gadot looked a bit more pleased to see him, swinging around in his stool with all the grace of a person halfway under the table and grabbing his hand, slapping his back. The gesture was painful, but warm, and Snow took a spare seat next to him.

“You’ve got that look again,” said Lebreau, pouring him whatever they had on tap that night.

“Again,” muttered Snow. “You’re getting pretty observant in your old age.”

“So? Who’s the girl, and how did she turn you down?”

“Yeah,” said Gadot, chortling, gesturing with two fingers. “Who’d turn this down?”

Snow was abruptly very conscious of his loose-fitting pants and baggy shirt, and how had Snow ever believed he was even vaguely in shooting range of Hope’s league?

He took a long drink of… very rich cider, apparently, and steeled himself. He looked straight at Lebreau, and said, “There’s no girl. It’s this kid I teach. I saw him in Monday’s lecture and,” (and Snow had to bite out the words. They tasted fruity, feminine by anyone’s standards, but Lebreau wasn’t the type to take anyone seriously unless they meant what they said), “I couldn’t take my eyes off him.”

Gadot’s jaw dropped, unhinged like a snake. Lebreau’s eyes had shot wide open.

“Some kid,” she said. “The girl you were staring at was some kid? Him?”

“God,” drawled Gadot. He looked at Snow, grin broad and lopsided. “Now I’ve heard everything. I can die happy.”

“Who is he? How old is he?”

He took another long drink. A few of the other patrons were looking at him curiously, like he was some sort of wandering attraction. “He’s eighteen. Graduated young, he’s a genius or something. Got his PhD. in philosophy last year.”

Gadot whistled, but Lebreau remained unconvinced. “Eighteen, Snow. Don’t you think you’re a bit old for him?”

“He’s only twenty-three, Lebreau. Snow’s not such a cradle-robber.”

“This kid is his student,” Lebreau exclaimed, rounding on her boyfriend, who held up his hands as if calling for mercy. “That’s a little inappropriate, Gadot.”

“Last I checked, you weren’t so appropriate yourself,” said Gadot. His eyes slid across to Snow, and he winked. No harm done. Snow wondered if it was normal to feel this sort of relief, wondered if this is how Hope had felt when Snow had told him he didn’t care if he liked guys (but even that was a lie, Snow had cared: he’d suddenly known he’d had a chance in hell).

Lebreau’s eyes narrowed, but Gadot spoke before she could continue. “You like this kid? How long have you known him?”

“A few days,” said Snow, shifting uncomfortably.

“A few days? He must be really something.”

“Snow?” Lebreau leaned across the bar, suddenly more sympathetic. “Are you sure this isn’t just some desire to experiment?”

Gadot laughed. “Don’t let Yuj hear you saying that.”

“He’s… everything I needed.”

They both looked at Snow like he’d grown an extra head.

“And what?” Lebreau teased. “He isn’t interested?”

“Nah,” said Gadot. “I reckon he’s interested, look at his face. What’s his name, again?”

“Hope.”

“Tell me you didn’t have sex with him.”

“I didn’t have sex with him,” Snow said through gritted teeth. Though he’d wanted to. He could feel the eyes on him. “Vanille came in and saw us, took him with her.”

“I can’t believe this,” said Lebreau, though her voice was teasing. “You sure move fast.”

“He’d only known Serah four days before he asked her to marry him, remember?”

“We were ten, Gadot. But seriously, will you be seeing this boy tomorrow?”

“Nah,” said Snow, frowning, “No classes. I invited him down to the match, but I’m not so sure he’ll want to come.”

“You have no classes. That doesn't mean he won’t.”

“The match starts after class.”

“No, you big idiot. Go in and talk to him. It can’t hurt.”

Snow and Gadot exchanged a look. Gadot shrugged. “No reason you shouldn’t,” he said. “Otherwise, you’ll just sit at home wondering.”

“For once,” said Lebreau, pride in her voice (and Gadot seemed to puff up, pleased with himself), “You make a good point, babe.”

Snow laughed loudly, already feeling better than he had in days – Gadot’s cheeks seemed a little pink.

.

 

He got home to find his voicemail clogged with messages. The first two, a generic schedule reminder from the professor and an automated reminder to come to dinner from Lightning, he deleted. Then he saw the missed calls from Hope, two of them, followed by a call from Vanille.

“Snow? It’s Vanille! I’m so sorry about earlier, I just didn’t expect to walk in and see… Anyway, I jumped to conclusions-”

Ah, he thought; Vanille had assumed he was taking advantage, which he supposed he was if he was honest about it.

“-and Hope told me off when we went outside! Maybe call him, okay? He’s probably really worried, I think I embarrassed him. Don’t hurt him, Snow; I know Hope’s smart and he can make his own decisions, but he’s my friend first!”

The call ended. Snow ran a palm over his neck, and thought.  
“Hey, Snow?” And Snow’s stomach lurched. Objectively, Hope’s voice was nothing special, but the hesitant, tremulous sound of Snow’s name was something else. “Vanille gave me this number, to contact you. She said, um, she was sorry for making me run out on you earlier. I know it seemed pretty childish to you.”

Childish. So that’s what Hope was worried about. He’d known how to kiss, had thrown all Snow’s expectations right out – he thought about exactly how Hope had learned, and felt the start of uncomfortable, building rage when he wondered if someone older had taught him, been drawn in same as Snow had.

“But I don’t want to stop this just because of what happened. You’re obviously…” He faltered, but pressed on, “Attracted to me, but if it’s made you uncomfortable or if you’re worried about your job, just pretend it never happened?”

To Snow’s credit, the very idea seemed to pain him. Hope hadn’t really specified what he wanted, but maybe Hope was too shy to hint at romantic feeling beyond what had essentially been a sloppy make-out. Snow would take what he could get.

“Okay, well. I’ll see you tomorrow. At the match. You don’t have to talk to me, I’ll understand if you don’t, but”

The message had run into overtime, and cut off.

*

“You’re headstrong, you know that?”

Hope’s hands pressed against his chest. He wasn’t small, with his long legs and strong shoulders, but he was smaller than Snow, whose hand could nearly span the small of his back. “You aren’t focused. Move.”

Snow began to move, sure ma’am, as much as he could with Hope straddling him. “You’ve really picked up an attitude.” He grunted as Hope clamped up, blunt nails digging into Snow’s pecs, then his shoulders. “Gods, Hope, what happened to you?”

Hope slammed himself down with greater force, gritting his teeth, and not meeting Snow’s eyes. Snow could barely meet his movements, reluctant to give Hope rougher treatment when he looked like that, stressed and tense and worried. “It’s fine,” he said, and Snow could feel the worry in his breath. “Snow, just-”

With great, great reluctance and strength of will, Snow leaned back onto the couch, and raised his hands from their seat on Hope’s waist to touch his face. “What’s up? We’re a team, remember? We’ll sort it out together.”

Hope’s head was bowed. His shoulders were shaking, and Snow felt his desire leave him. He pulled out, lightly shifting Hope until he rested in his lap. He was naked, excepting his unbuttoned shirt, and Snow leaned in to kiss his neck.

“There’s nothing to sort out,” Hope said eventually. “The director died, earlier this week. They’re electing candidates to fill the position, looking at all the heads of department to see if they can find… a suitable replacement.”

“Then you’re up for nomination! That’s great, Hope.”

“No.” And Snow should have known, by the look on Hope’s face. He saw the age, the strain this job had placed on Hope’s capable shoulders, the hours and nights he’d pulled for the sake of progress. They’d all seen the inventions Hope had produced, the engineering, the technology made impossible without him, and still, “The advisory board warned me that I’m too young to take directorship.” His green eyes burned with an aggravated fire, and Hope sat up in Snow’s lap, hands clenching in Snow’s grip. “Never mind everything I’ve done for the school, never mind everything I’ve produced, I’ve created. I’m too young. I don’t – I can’t-”  
There were thoughts Hope couldn’t articulate, but Snow could guess at most of them. The barrier between Hope’s experience and his appearance, how the world saw him, would madden Snow as well if he were in Hope’s shoes. At twenty-eight, Snow could progress to senior lecturer in his department, but Hope’s tenure could be bypassed in lieu of his young age.

“I keep wondering if, maybe, they’ll do something unprecedented and elect me.” Hope’s breathing was steadying out, his face returning to its normal calm, with the barest suggestion of the stubborn teenager he was when Snow had met him. “There are other choices, other people I wouldn’t mind directing us. Still, I can’t help but want to change the world myself.” He laughed to show he was joking, but there was enough of the bare truth there for Snow to catch.

Snow looked at him, and wondered at how little Hope saw of himself. “Hey, kid? You’ve already changed the world! Everything you’ve done, and you still doubt yourself because you can’t take directorship?”

“I know, but, Snow-”

“Nothing,” said Snow, confident, “can stop you, age or otherwise. If you want that directorship, fight for it! Go in there and show ‘em what you’ve got. If you think you’re better than everyone else, prove it to them the way you proved it to me.”

Hope’s smile was wry, but genuine. “Really good sex?” he asked.

Snow looked at him, and wondered at how little his want for Hope had changed. He hugged him closer, grinning into Hope’s throat. “Nah,” he told him. “You can keep that between us.”

*

“It’s Snow. Sorry for not picking up your call. Listen, I don’t want to-”

“Hello? Hello, Snow?”

“Hope!”

“Er, hi. Sorry, I know you’re probably busy.”

“Hey, no, I called you! I wanted to talk to you.”

“Er.” There was a long pause, in which Snow gritted his teeth and crossed his fingers, counting the seconds. “Sure.”

“I got your message,” said Snow, “and I get that I made you uncomfortable. I just. It’s not like you have any obligation to me now, because I wouldn’t want you to feel that way. Just making sure.”

“Oh,” said Hope. His voice was strangely flat. “Okay. I don’t feel obliged to you. I assumed you’d be more uncomfortable than me. Vanille told me you had a fiancée.”

“Had a fiancée,” Snow said quickly, “That’s long over. Years over. And I guess I’m not as… straight as I thought I was.”

“Right,” said Hope, unconvinced. “You’ve never been with a guy before, I could tell.”

Snow wondered how he could possibly tell beyond a well-educated guess. Was there more to kissing guys than he’d thought? Something else girls didn’t require or want of him?

“That’s,” he said, “it’s not important. Look, it’s kinda hard to talk over the phone like this, right? I’ll come see you tomorrow.”

“Come and see me?”

He could tell Hope was surprised; dumbfounded, even. He shouldn’t think like that. “To, uh, talk it over.” He’s never talked something over in his life, beyond what his ex-girlfriends had needed from him. They’d always taken the initiative. But Snow felt this responsibility more acutely: Hope was young, Snow wasn’t going to get what he wanted or do good by him unless he acted fast.

“Talk it over.” He could hear the disbelief in his voice, considered the need to reinvent his reputation that grew more pressing by the day. “Where? The staffroom?”

“No,” said Snow, with kneejerk revulsion, but also a lot of hope that he hadn’t shot down the idea entirely. “Heck no, d’you want to meet at the café?”

Another pause. He watched a fly crawl slowly across the outside of his kitchen window.

Then:  
“I’m free at ten,” said Hope, shortly, and cut the call.

.

Vanille rang him an hour later, when Snow was in the middle of brushing his teeth. He choked, spat, and answered quickly.

“You’re meeting him.”

“He told you.”

“He told me,” she confirmed. “Snow… Lightning told me how you were with Serah, and I’ve seen you with those other girls who always come to the ring to watch you. If this is just a phase.”

“It’s not some phase,” he said, confidently. “It’s how it was with Serah; I can’t take my eyes off him.”

He felt overemotional, unclean, felt the need to take a shower.

“Right,” said Vanille, falsely cheerful, “okay. But if this is just a phase, Hope will be very hurt, you know. I can tell how he thinks of you.”

“How does he think of me?”

“He thinks you’re strong,” she said, “And that means a lot to him, so don’t mess this up!”  
“I won’t, I won’t,” he said, and hung up to save some of his pride. His stomach writhed, like a pit of incensed, love-starved snakes.

Of all the things, Lebreau’s voice came to mind, when she said, are you sure this isn’t just some desire to experiment, and Snow had to stop for a minute, take a good look at himself and think, could she’ve been right; if she was, he could save them both a lot of grief.

Snow gritted his teeth, and marvelled at how this could be the one time Lebreau was wrong.

*

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself. Are you awake yet?”

“Sure I’m awake, I’m talking to you.”

“No,” said Hope, his voice made tinnier by the line, but Snow heard him laugh, heard the tease in it. “Awake implies alert, and I don’t recall you ever getting up before one in the afternoon on days off.”

“Fine,” he groaned, “You caught me. You’re cheerful, for Monday.”

There was silence for a moment. Snow listened down the line, vaguely concerned that he’d said something wrong, but then Hope laughed again, loudly, carelessly, and Snow’s mind came back to him. His pulse thudded twice.

“They made the announcement today,” said Hope, breathless.

“Yeah, I remember,” Snow drawled. It couldn’t be bad news, the way he’d drawn it out, the way his voice kept catching like a boy in middle school.

“They gave it to me. The directorship. I got it.”

“Congratulations! Holy shit – Director Hope Estheim, what a title.”

Hope was silent, perhaps soaking in the glory of an unexpected victory. He huffed a small, relieved breath into the receiver. Snow grinned, lets his head fall back onto the pillow – Lightning would be thrilled, she’d want to organise dinner and everything, to celebrate, and Hope would smile and duck his head and say it wasn’t necessary, yet secretly be thrilled.

“Snow,” he said, abruptly. “Can you be free tonight?”

“Of course! Anything you want.”

“I want,” he said. Then he paused, laughed again, in disbelief. “I want to ask you a question.”

“Sure. Go for it.”

“Not now,” said Hope firmly. “Tonight.”

“Or tonight,” Snow amended. “Whenever you want, Director.”

“You should call me Director from now on. That’s what I want.”

“Sure, Director.”

“And you should meet me tonight,” Hope continued, his voice oddly soft, and with the force of a truck, an idea of exactly what the question could be slammed into him, so fast he hit his head on the wall behind, swearing.

“Hello? Snow, are you alright?”

“Fine,” he said, through gritted teeth, his eyes watering, “Fine,” but the pain didn’t matter. The initial feeling was slowly changing, transforming into some other emotion he couldn’t properly express. To his own horror, he felt tears sting his eyes.

“Hey, what happened? I heard-”

“Hope,” he said, and then he had to clear his throat, which suddenly felt so thick and clogged he could barely speak. “I love you. You know that, right?”

Hope made a small noise of surprise. Then he settled, and Snow could hear the smile in his words as he said, “I love you too.” A secondary voice, backgrounded in Snow’s ears, unimportant, echoed down Hope’s line, and he continued, now hurried, “I’ll see you tonight, at home. Dress nicely.”

 

*

Snow woke before the alarm. He unstuck his gluey eyes and stared at the ceiling until he felt even remotely ready to face the day, figuring it’d be over by tonight, either way; he’d been dreaming, something strange, hazy, and all he could remember was that it had involved Hope. (Stalling: he brushed his teeth extra slow, took time arranging his hair into as neat a mess as possible without exhausting the rest of his gel, took his time making breakfast.)

The sky was open, blue. The pavement was clear when he left the apartment, the few people he did bump into in his hurry weren’t in any big hurry of their own. Everyone else with places to be had left hours earlier. As such, he descended the steps into a mostly empty subway and immediately found a seat on the next train: a few rows back from a weary student and an old man who looked like he had no business carrying a briefcase.

Would Snow still be working when he grew so old, his hairline receded and he had to take a test to check if his biking licence was still valid?

Then he thought about Hope again, wondered what he was doing, and the knot of anxiety in his gut stretched further. His leg jiggled against the seat.

He had the match tonight: the match and then dinner, with Lightning and Serah. If Hope said yes, he’d invite him. (The more rational part of him said no, you can’t invite him to dinner with your ex-girlfriend, no matter how much time has passed, and Snow wouldn’t be exactly comfortable with it either. If he blew off Lightning this time, she wouldn’t mind, right?) But, he thought morosely, he was getting way ahead of himself.

The train crawled and crawled, slower and slower by the minute, until at last the high ornate arches of the platform came into view and Snow could see one of the university’s five long spires poking lopsidedly against it.

He picked up his feet and tried to look professional, to appear as confident as he felt on a regular day. It was impulsive, whatever he was doing here: about as considered as quitting his summer job after one bad day at it. But impulse was in his blood; the regular part of his brain, prompting him to turn around and see Hope on Monday or, even better, to have never made that call last night, was always overridden by the drive to have.

.

Hope was there, in a beanie and skinny jeans that looked more like something Yuj and his army of fashion majors would wear. He’d ordered a coffee for himself and for Snow, sat looking bored and pensive, but fresh steam rose up from the filter, snakes curling in the cool morning air.

Snow saw him, gave a little half-wave. He tried for a grin, but it probably looked stupid. Compared to Hope, hair soft around his ears in the chill, he felt overlarge, clumsy.

“Hope,” he said, redundant, and Snow had so badly masked his relief he should turn right around and get on the train home.

“Hey.” Hope smiled a little smile. Relieved. It lit up his face, threw his features into sharper definition.

A few of the students milling around the café were looking at them, recognising Snow and sort of whispering amongst themselves. Hope seemed to pay them no mind, slitting the lid off his coffee cup and diverting his eyes, staring into the foam.

“So-”/“Hey-“ they both spoke at once. They looked at each other and laughed.

“I’ll speak,” said Snow, “You just listen, alright? Last night.”

Hope’s eyes had become fixated, almost shiveringly tense.

“Last night, I basically said I was sorry for kissing you. But I don’t like to lie, and if I’m speaking the truth, I’m not sorry.” He paused, breathing hard, his heart urging to break right out of his ribs. “I’m not sorry I kissed you, Hope.”

The boy looked up quickly, too quickly. His hand, the one not holding the coffee cup, clenched dangerously.

Snow wondered what that meant, but he didn’t have time to think. So he did what had always worked for him, ploughing remorselessly on.

“I like you. I saw you in first lecture, the first I ever taught, and I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“What if I said no?” Hope’s eyes were narrowed, less blazing and more steadfast, determined, constant. “What if I said the kiss was a mistake? I mean,” bitter, “we’ve all screwed people we shouldn’t have, right?”

Snow’s heart dropped like a boulder; he swallowed over the break. “You don’t have to do anything about it. I’d have your tutes moved. It's been a week, but I could pull out of lectures, tell the department I’ll teach next semester. Whatever makes you happy.”

“And why,” said Hope, suspiciously, “the hell would you do this for some kid? For me?”

“You’re not a kid. You said it, and you’re right.”

“Why?”

Snow gritted his teeth, and marched on. “Go out with me,” he said. “I’d do it ‘cause I want you. And I want to make you happy.”

“Snow.”

He looked up, straight up at Hope. And the not-kid shoved his coffee to the side, leaned over and kissed him for the second time.

.

It was your basic college scandal, exploding and dying like slow stars. The café told everybody, everybody told their tutors, the tutors told on Snow, and the professor looked at him in disbelief, the state the world was coming to. Serah looked at him like she’d been betrayed, seeing him with another man, ‘you’re just jealous ‘cause he’s beautiful,’ but then she’d shake her head and smile and pat Snow on the arm and she and Lightning would slowly fall in love with Hope, and the months would pass and pass until spring arrived, then summer, falling seasons like leaves and, so similar to Serah but unmistakably, wonderfully different, simple days stretched into years and years.

But in their first semester together, like the both of them are first years only newly starting out, Snow is pulled from Hope’s tutorials.

Small price. He’d join Hope for lunch; they’d pass each other in coffee line; Hope hung back after class and they’d walk the half-mile to the station together, Hope would sit leaning on Snow’s arm; when social sciences got too boring for someone bright and remarkable like Hope, he’d move to the Academy, attain directorship, change the world, still and always coming home to Snow.

Hope would come to games, leaning up as Snow would bend down, and their rings would match and shine as Hope would kiss the winner.

**Author's Note:**

> please comment if you liked it <3


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